


Ghosts

by Matril



Category: The Autobiography of Jane Eyre
Genre: Angst, But not today, F/M, Memories, Someday I'll write a happy Aoje fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matril/pseuds/Matril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard for Jane to leave everything behind when the memories come with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> As you might guess, this started as an excuse to write about the lovely pictures in Jane's album. Somehow it morphed into this.

Jane was far too fuzzy-headed to take much notice of her surroundings when she first arrived at the Rivers’ house – first from the pain, and then from the pain medication Simon gave her. But she was dimly aware of Diana’s voice saying – apologetically? – “Nothing special, but there’s a nice soft bed and plenty of books to keep you company if you want.”

Those words carried her into uneasy dreams, where she was back in her old room and Grace was talking in her soon-to-be familiar brisk tones.

_“I hope you’re not too particular about the accommodations. It’s just a spare room. It hasn’t been re-furnished in years and we really can’t be troubled with that right now.”_

_Jane, meanwhile, fell in love with it then and there. She would have been intimidated by a luxuriously furnished room; she would have felt out of place and awkward. This room, instead, looked like a place she could feel really and truly comfortable, where she could be herself. Could she say that of any place she’d lived before?_

When she woke up, for a few disorienting moments she thought she was back there. She almost got up to look for Adele’s schedule to remind herself where she needed to take her today, and then the throbbing pain in her ribs and neck brought her back to the present. She slumped back, wincing, and examined her new location in the dim light filtering through the curtained window. 

Maybe it was only because she knew she couldn’t afford to be picky, but she decided she liked it right away. It was homey, well lived-in. And whatever she might have thought in her sleep-addled confusion, it bore very little resemblance to the place she had left behind.

Not that she really needed any help being reminded of that. As she spent the next few days recuperating and becoming more acquainted with the Rivers – the sisters much more than the brother – Jane discovered that the most innocuous things could trigger memories. Mary’s colorful socks. The first-aid kit tucked in the back of the cabinet under the bathroom sink. A lemon in the refrigerator. 

If she was lucky, it would happen when she was alone and she could cry out her feelings before anyone showed up. Otherwise, she was forced to swallow the lump in her throat, blink back the tears and try to change the subject as casually as possible. It wasn’t that Mary or Diana ever tried to pry into her secrets, and even when Simon seemed like he might be trying to, it was pretty easily deflected. But she knew it made everyone uncomfortable, and that was the last thing she wanted. 

She considered it a small blessing that one of the worst flashbacks happened when no one else was home. Simon was at work, as usual, and the girls were grocery shopping. Since her conversation with Simon about the possibility of finding her a job, and the assurance that they really needed a roommate and she wouldn’t be imposing on them to stay a while, she had finally decided to officially unpack. Of course, half her clothes were already strewn about the room or in the laundry. But she still hadn’t entirely emptied her suitcase. At first she was too wary, her situation too uncertain. Some of that uncertainty was finally dissipating.

She’d hardly taken one thing out of her suitcase before it all came rushing back to her.

_Rochester peeked his head in the doorway, grinning the way he always did when he was about to do something spontaneous and possibly ridiculous. “Pack up your stuff, Jane,” he said. “You’re changing rooms.”_

_“Changing – rooms?” she repeated, hastily tucking away the socks she was knitting for his Christmas present. “Why?”_

_He came in and waved his hand around. “This is a nanny’s room. You deserve more than that.”_

_“But I like this room.”_

_“You’ll like this one better. Trust me.” And his arched eyebrow made Jane think of something she hadn’t at first._

_She blushed furiously, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Do you mean you want me to move in to –” She didn’t have to finish the sentence._

_“Oh, no, no, it’s not that room, Jane,” he said with a laugh that had a nervous edge. “I wouldn’t – not until we’re both ready.”_

_She nodded, her eyes intent on the pattern of her blanket. She knew she wasn’t ready; she wasn’t even ready to talk about it openly. “So…what room were you talking about?”_

_“It’s one of the guest rooms. Come on, I’ll show you. Then you can start bringing your stuff over.”_

_She got up from the bed, rolling her eyes. “Start? I could probably get it all in one trip.”_

_As soon as she said it, she knew it was a mistake. She was perfectly happy not having lots of possession to lug around, but Rochester would take it as evidence that she needed more things, lots more things. Like a larger, luxurious, elegant bedroom._

_Still…she couldn’t deny it was a nice feeling when she closed the drawer of her new spacious dresser, put the empty suitcase up on the shelf of the closet and turned around to see Rochester beaming at her. He kissed her forehead, pulled her into a hug and murmured, “Welcome home.”_

She was crying over her suitcase. Over a piece of luggage. That was a new low.

On the other hand, it seemed to have a cathartic effect. By the time the Rivers sisters got home, Jane was able to greet them cheerily and helped them put the food away without a single sniffle – not even when a clove of garlic made her think of Adele and flower girls.

It got easier with time, though she wouldn’t say it was ever easy. When the memories came – and they certainly still came – she could get through most of them with a sigh. Sometimes even a teary smile.

She was curled up in bed with a pile of paperwork. It was strange how much information was required just to start a part-time job. She finished filling out the first page, then picked up the next. And paused.

_Rochester was already yawning enormously when she left to make them some tea. By the time she got back, he was fast asleep on her bed, surrounded by piles of paper. She set down the tea with a quiet laugh and picked up her camera. It wasn’t very often that she could capture him in a pose like this._

_He looked peaceful, untroubled. That was rare. Even when he was in a buoyant mood, which was quite frequent during the last month, Jane could sense an underlying gloom that never entirely left him. She knew he had pain in his past. Anyone could have guessed that from the simple absence of Adele’s mother or any mention of her. But she had an inexplicable sense that it was something deeper and darker, something that weighed on him every moment and dimmed even the brightest parts of his life._

_When she first came here and the house made dreary sounds at night, she couldn’t help wondering if it was haunted. Now she suspected that it wasn’t the house; it was Rochester himself. There were ghosts lingering behind his eyes._

_She didn’t push him; she didn’t pry. She could wait until he was ready. And she cherished times like this, when he was so comfortable and easy in her room that he could fall asleep like a baby._

_Jane sat, sipping her tea, and watched him roll over onto his side. He was settling into the deep stages of sleep now, probably dreaming. She wondered what he was dreaming about._

_She took another picture. Then she got up, gathered the papers into a tidy stack and kissed his shoulder. He murmured and stirred but stayed asleep._

Jane wiped her damp cheeks, somehow pleased with herself for not breaking down into sobs. 

It seemed that she had taken some of Rochester’s ghosts with her. She might never banish them entirely. 

She might not want to.


End file.
